


Sinuo

by north3rn3r



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Dark, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Human Sebastian Michaelis, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29494740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/north3rn3r/pseuds/north3rn3r
Summary: Sebastian had seen him before. Just once. Watching him from a rooftop, maybe a month ago. He’d taken aim with his rifle and fired a warning shot, and the head of slate gray hair had seemed to bob with laughter before disappearing from view. Sebastian had planned to spend the night in that deserted little town, but had been unwilling to risk it after that. He’d had to ride in the dark before he found suitable shelter, and he’d regretted not having simply blown the kid’s brains out.Today, it was Sebastian who startled him.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. FURTA

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks. This is my first ever fanfic - not sure how long it is going to be, but I'm feeling it. Let me know what you think so far? :)

Pops always told him he was too rigid. Inflexible. That a little pressure could cause the tense line of his patience to snap and give way with nary a bend to warn of the imminent catastrophe.

Sebastian didn’t need to bend. Not in that life, hazy and distant, and certainly not in this one.

He had pried the lid off of a tin of sardines with little effort using his blade, saliva pooling behind the gnash of his teeth. The salty, piscine oils did nothing for his sleep sour mouth, but little bothered him these days.

Well.

Perhaps that wasn’t all that true.

The cold basement floor was littered with his things. He repacked his bag every morning - it didn’t hurt to check that all of his gear was in working order. Sebastian was particular. It also gave him something to do. He swallowed down his meal and clicked his tongue against his teeth, calloused hands arranging his belongings into tidy rows. 

Boredom. Boredom bothered him. 

A map, a compass, a brass pair of binoculars. Antibacterial ointment, rubbing alcohol, gauze. A bottle of antibiotics and a ziplock baggie of miscellaneous painkillers. A box of matches, a Zippo, tinder, a striker, a fold-up saw. A squeeze filtration system, a few fresh filters, and some tablets as backup. His Buck 110, his whetstone, his fishing line and hooks. Durable cordage, a solar blanket, a flashlight with a box of batteries. A butane camp stove, a small pot, a couple of utensils. Soap. A few pairs of socks and underwear, pants and a shirt, a razor, floss, a toothbrush and toothpaste. A gun cleaning kit. Ammo. A short hose.

The pictures. The book. The little pink shoes.

The huge backpack was stuffed to the brim, and Sebastian had packed and unpacked and repacked it enough times to know exactly how to slot every possession he owned in just so, so the bag zippered shut without fuss, and the nylon didn’t bulge and dig at his spine when he moved.

And he moved a lot. Constantly. There was no sense in the static now, nothing worth sticking around for, and Sebastian had never spent more than a week in one place. 

It had been a year of this.

The sunlight filtered in through the frosted basement window, illuminating his little ritual in a bath of buttery morning hues. The man sitting cross-legged on the floor was very tall, bordering on lanky if it weren’t for the hard-earned muscles that bulked his arms, his shoulders, his thighs. Sebastian took another fifteen minutes to wrap up, every movement slow and purposeful, long fingers lingering on each item as if committing it to memory before packing it up. Then he stood up and slung the backpack on, accustomed to the impressive weight it bore. The Ruger PC Carbine joined the bag on his back, its matte black muzzle bobbing behind his ear, and he took a swig from his canteen before stuffing it into the side pocket of his pack and taking his leave of the abandoned home that had housed him for the last three days. 

He’d looted the preserves in the basement the first day, storing much of it in the trunk of his bike. There’d also been spare butane, which he had been happy about. The home had been ransacked, but seemingly in a hurry, as there were still treasures to be found. Sebastian was patient with this. He knew the rewards of a keen eye.

The boy did, too.

Sebastian had seen him before. Just once. Watching him from a rooftop, maybe a month ago. He’d taken aim with his rifle and fired a warning shot, and the head of slate gray hair had seemed to bob with laughter before disappearing from view. Sebastian had planned to spend the night in that deserted little town, but had been unwilling to risk it after that. He’d had to ride in the dark before he found suitable shelter, and he’d regretted not having simply blown the kid’s brains out. 

Today, it was Sebastian who startled him.

The tall man had spotted him before he even set foot outside the house, having glanced through a window by the front door. He watched for a moment as the slim little figure rooted through his trunk, the crowbar he must have used to pry it open sitting forgotten in the dried grass of the front lawn. Mussed hair, an eye patch, all sky high legs and little else. 

The front door slamming open had the boy scrambling away from the motorcycle with a yelp, the canister of butane clutched to his narrow chest. Even with the distance between them, Sebastian could make out the vivid cerulean of his one good eye, the alarm in its depths quickly morphing into fear once Sebastian took aim.

“You followin’ me, kid?”

The boy was quiet, still clutching Sebastian’s fuel tightly, one bright eye trained on the barrel of the gun pointed in his direction. The click of the safety being flicked off rang sharp in the heavy silence, and it had the young man flinching, a tremor in his knees. He had enough sense to position himself behind Sebastian’s bike, likely trusting the armed man wouldn’t risk damaging it. 

He would be correct. Sebastian began moving, slowly, to try and get a better angle on him, but the youth kept the bike between them, crouched behind it. 

“No, sir.” The voice was soft, melodic. Pretty. Unassuming. It pissed Sebastian off.

“Step away from my bike.”

“Please - please don’t shoot me.”

“Step away from my fucking bike.”

A primal sort of satisfaction took over when the kid dropped the gas and took a step away from the motorcycle. He was wearing tight jeans, black combat boots similar to the ones on Sebastian’s feet, and a gray wool sweater. He was small, no taller than 5’7, with relatively narrow shoulders. Couldn’t be older than eighteen. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, delicate hands up in the air, palms turned towards Sebastian in a gesture of surrender.

“P-please-”

“Shut the fuck up. Get on your knees.”

That pale face blanched further, and the features became clearer the closer Sebastian got. An upturned little nose, a round, pink mouth, soft cheeks, arched, dark brows. That wide blue eye was framed with inky, thick lashes, and the pupil was but a pinprick in the rising sun. He looked so young, innocent, even, sticking out like a sore thumb in the ruthless wasteland they inhabited. It took Sebastian aback just enough that he didn’t pull the trigger quite yet, though his finger flirted with the smooth plastic in preparation. 

“Are you deaf? Get on your fucking knees, kid.”

“O-okay, okay!” He dropped to his knees, staring up at Sebastian and trembling as the man got close enough to press the barrel of his rifle up against the boy’s forehead. “Nnn- p-please, d-don’t-”

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not, I swear-”

Sebastian growled, low in his throat, deep in his chest, and couldn’t help delighting in the way the subdued young man flinched at the sound.

“Stop lying, or I’m blasting your brains right out of that pretty little head of yours. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, his bottom lip wobbled, and he looked down at his knees. He was silent for a long few seconds, right up until Sebastian cleared his throat expectantly.

“I - I haven’t s-seen anybody i-in s-so long, I-”

He flinched again when Sebastian used the end of the rifle to nudge his face back up from under his chin, forcing the boy to maintain eye contact. A small smile curved the older man’s lips at the sight of unshed tears brimming in that brilliant blue eye. Pretty little thing, facing the consequences of his own actions.

“I said I’d shoot you if you lied, didn’t I?” The man’s voice was dangerously low, and the boy choked out a sob.

“I’m n-not lying! Please, I’m not, I’m not, I-I...” His shoulders shook as the boy cried, cheek slick with tears on one side of his face, and Sebastian couldn’t help thinking the boy looked good like that. Good enough that he traced the gun along his jaw, up to his ear, and then across his forehead to push away the fringe of his hair. Flirted with the rim of the eyepatch and started inching it out of the way -

“Oof-” Sebastian crumpled, the air snatched straight from his lungs, his crotch radiating waves of agony that licked up his stomach and morphed into nausea. The kid was wicked fast - in the way he swatted the barrel aside, how swiftly he delivered an uppercut to Sebastian’s balls, and the speed with which he took off down the street. It would have all been pretty impressive if Sebastian weren’t biting back vomit, and if the rage coursing through his veins weren’t quite so blinding. He staggered to his feet, lifted his gun and took aim, firing a shot at the escaping figure. Missed. Shot again, missed again - the kid was zig zagging, before taking a sharp right behind a house, disappearing from view. The sound of laughter disappeared with him, a bright, silvery noise that made Sebastian want to crush bone and tear flesh.

Sebastian was still groaning in pain, lashes fluttering as he tried to keep his meager breakfast down, but he took off after the boy anyway. It hurt to run, terribly, but that piece of shit had all of his butane, managing to snatch it off the ground as he made his escape, and who knew what else he’d stuffed in his bag before Sebastian caught him. Fuck. 

He rounded the corner where the kid had disappeared, a narrow alley between two homes, and was dismayed when he didn’t see him. He swore under his breath and kept running, wanting nothing more than to splatter the little shit’s brains all over the pavement - but the fucker was gone. Sebastian stopped when he reached the street, whipping around to see if he could catch sight of him, but he appeared alone. His ears strained, hoping to hear the frantic patter of feet, but it was silent on the road. 

Sebastian searched both of the houses the guy had run between, and after nearly an hour spent stalking the immediate area, he gave up. He couldn’t remember ever being this angry. He wanted to smash things, so he did. A few windows. A liquor bottle that sat against the lip of the curb. A row of terracotta pots, the plants they used to house long gone, the dry, compacted soil spilt and crumbled across the abandoned porch. When he’d taken out enough of his rage on things that were regrettably not a pale, blue-eyed, weepy face, Sebastian returned to his bike and took stock of the contents of his trunk. 

The fucker had taken a few cans of his food, but his sleeping bag was still in there, at least. Sebastian muttered a litany of curses and swiped the abandoned crowbar from the grass, managing to stuff it into his backpack before mounting his bike and getting the hell out of dodge.


	2. FAMILIA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor reference to CSA.

_ Sweet golden rose, don't ever rust _

_ Be ever so delicate, when lending your trust _

_... _

_ We don't belong in a wasteland _ __  
  


**Neon Rust - Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes**

"Ew. _Gross_!"

"Oh? You’d rather starve, then?"

"Uh-huh."

"Pest. Eat it, or I'm mashing it up and funneling it down your throat."

Slack jawed and wide eyed, the brattiness dissipated for a single glorious moment before the little blonde pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest, pointy baby chin tipped up defiantly. Challenging and childish and charming.

"Try it!" 

The clash of moss green and stormy blue crackled with caustic energy. The eye contact was maintained for several long moments before the boy’s glare softened into something a little more affable.

"Lizzie." His voice dropped, low and measured. "I was almost shot in the head for that."

He was met with silence, but he knew he'd hit his mark when his cousin's bottom lip wobbled, a certain tenderness bleeding back into that obstinate tiny white face.

"Here, pretend it's like Baldo used to make. Yeah? Green bean casserole, remember? Just, uh…" The boy plucked a legume from the can, tipped his head back for dramatic flair, and dropped the bland morsel into his open mouth. "...deconstructed."

This earned him a half hearted giggle, and that was enough for Ciel. Enough to plaster a lopsided smile on his face as he watched the nine year old put on a dramatic show of chewing and swallowing the unsalted canned vegetables like they were the most disgusting thing she'd ever tasted. And to her credit, they weren’t exactly a delicacy - nothing like what a Phantomhive and a Midford were used to eating - but they were certainly better than nothing. They split the can for lunch along with some stale crackers, then spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through a paperback edition of Alice in Wonderland, belly down beside each other on a dusty mattress.

“Oh, no!” Elizabeth had pressed herself up close against her older cousin’s side, pink fingers clutching at the sleeve of his sweater as she gawked at the page. “What a dirty trick.”

“Dummies should have listened to the elder oyster.” Ciel flashed the little girl a teasing smile and flipped the page. “See? Bad things happen when children misbehave.”

“Pfft.” A small fist thumped his shoulder. “I always listen to you!”

“Mm, of course you do,” the boy scoffed. “That’s why you were sneaking around next door while I was gone, yes?”

“I saw a cat run in there!” 

“So?”

“Wha- what do you mean _so_? I wanted to pet it, genius.”

Ciel rolled his eyes and looped an arm around Lizzie’s waist, flipping onto his back and taking the aggravating child with him, held fast against his chest. “Those things are the devil. Almost as bad as the Walrus.” The girl giggled and smacked at his chest, feigning frustration but clearly delighted. He nuzzled into the soft hair atop her head and inhaled, scrunching his nose up again.

“Ugh. You _stink_.”

Lizzie lifted her face from where she had pressed it into his sweater and glowered down at him. “You don’t smell all that great either,” she retorted.

The boy lifted up the arm that wasn’t holding onto his cousin and turned his head to sniff himself. _Oof._ “Touche, Stinker. Guess it’s about time, eh?”

In the summer months they’d had the luxury of waiting for nightfall to venture out to the nearest body of water to bathe, but in the crisp October weather, Ciel had to weigh the risks up against each other. It got very cold at night; they were both quite skinny, and Ciel’s lungs were delicate, so they set out for the river on their bicycles while the sun was still shining. It was a fifteen minute ride from the house they were squatting in to the river that bisected the deserted suburb, and the two rode their bikes in silence, Ciel’s head on a swivel.

The water was frigid, and Lizzie squealed far too loudly for Ciel’s liking when she stepped into it, but it was, nevertheless, a relief to cleanse themselves of the sweat and the dirt and the oils that had accumulated over the last week. They washed their hair with a half-empty bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner that Ciel had come to appreciate, soaped themselves down, and clambered back onto the riverbank as soon as they were done. The seventeen year old was hasty in drying the child off, taking heed of her pebbled skin and the tremble of her lanky little limbs. He was still dripping wet as he helped her put her clothes back on, shivering so noticeably that Lizzie swatted his hands away and demanded he take care of himself, appending with a haughty, “I can get dressed on my own, Ciel!”

“Alright - get that hat on quick.”

The little girl looked down at the pile of clothes at her feet, sniffling. “Uh, s’not here.”

“Shit. One second.” The boy dressed as quickly as he could, struggling as he was to get his tight pants up the length of his damp legs, and once he had, he scrambled up the gentle slope of the hill to where he’d hidden the bikes in a bush. The hat was in her backpack, a small pink toque to keep her wet head warm from the chill suspended in the air. Ciel dropped to a crouch and rooted through her bag until he found it, about to rise to his feet when he froze, heart leaping into his throat.

Voices. Distant, but entirely too close for comfort. Ciel swore under his breath and peered over the top of the bush, eyes growing wide with alarm when he spotted a group of men in the street. They piled out of a small house on the corner of the block nearest the river, laughing and passing a bottle around. Ciel hadn’t seen any vehicles to suggest their presence - perhaps they were parked further away, and had been sweeping the area. Each one had that signature black paisley bandana, either tied around their head or looped around their necks, and the boy quickly felt faint with fear.

Lizzie knew something was wrong as soon as Ciel hurried down to the riverbank. She didn’t say a word, doe eyes watching the boy’s distraught features intently as he pulled the hat on her head and led her down the riverbank. There was a thicket of bushes a mere twenty feet away, much denser than the ones they’d hidden their bikes in, and he tugged Lizzie into them to hide. Ciel was shivering hard, shirtless and soaked, and by the time the men had made their way down to the river, his teeth chattered. Lizzie was quiet as a mouse, tucked into his side and trembling, her anxiety evidenced by the shallow little breaths against his neck and her refusal to look through the shrubbery at the men gathering along the riverbank. The child was rubbing his arms and shoulders, trying to warm him up, but her hands were tiny and frigid themselves, ineffectual. Ciel tucked his hands into his armpits and focused on the conversation the men were having, trying to ignore the chill settling in his bones and the nerves thrumming through his body. There were five of them, armed to the teeth and filling up plastic bottles with water. 

“-told you so many times that you gotta wear a glove.”

“Fuck off, shit’s all expired anyway.”

“Takes years for that, dumbass.”

“Yep. You could also just, you know, _pull out_.”

“Ya really think I got the self control for that? C’mon now.”

“Well, neither does Al, I reckon. Swear the dude’s tryna set a new record for world’s youngest mama at this rate.”

Ciel clapped his hands over Lizzie’s ears, pulling her head against his chest.

A disgusted snort. “Y’all are sick, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard enough about it from ya, you sanctimonious prick. Got yourself a man suckin’ ya dry and you think you can judge me?”

“My toy’s full grown, baby. Can’t compare.” 

A harsh laugh. “ _Exactly_.”

Disgust swelled in the form of a lump, heavy in his throat, and Ciel swallowed thickly around it. Lizzie was trembling against him, short arms wrapped around his bare chest, trying her hardest to share her body heat. The men stayed there for another hour, smoking cigarettes and eating what looked like fried chicken on the dried grass. By the time they left, Ciel’s lips were pale, his skin icy to the touch, his slender body wracked with shivers. It took longer this time - cutting through the houses and the sparse woods to keep off of the road had added a good twenty minutes to their travel time, but they hadn’t seen another sign of the men, and that made the detour well worth it. Ciel tried to ignore how tight his lungs felt the whole way back. The worried look on his cousin’s face didn’t let up even when they returned to their hideout, and she quickly set about gathering every threadbare sheet and blanket in the house to bury him under. 

Lizzie used the butane Ciel had stolen from some maniac with a rifle that morning to refill their camp stove. They ate a can of pork and beans each and finished a puzzle they’d been working on before falling asleep curled up together, Lizzie dreaming of warm cat bellies and hot chocolate, Ciel of rough-faced men with mean hands and unbuckled belts, taking, breaking, discarding.


End file.
